Nautilus
by Verdot
Summary: Two young people, one antique shop and a sunny day. Art and artifice. A SquallxRinoa for Sabriel41 and coincidentally my first FF8 fanfic.


**. . . Nautilus . . .**

It all started when he found the nautilus.

Not the grand mechanized thing he'd imagined in books from a long time ago, memories fuzzy and unclear. But a shell, mathematical as Quistis's lectures and the probability that Seifer would pick a fight.

"It's pretty," she said with a giggle, holding it up to the sunlight that streamed in through the large front windows. Maybe it wasn't the beach, maybe there was no sea, but the lovely little antique shop that she'd dragged him into felt more organic than both... it _breathed_. Old things were bound to do that. This particular corner of the cluttered place held all sorts of natural foundlings. Leaves, bones, and of course, the spiraling half of a nautilus.

"I wonder what sort of creature lived in it," she said thoughtfully, as if she doubted her own intelligence in the matter. Still such a girl, under the strangeness of circumstance. Not some girl on the outside and adult on the inside like Selphie, or the opposite with Quistis... a mixture that popped up in the weirdest of circumstances.

She never failed to surprise him.

"Well, you see all these," he held up an ungloved hand and traced the spiral; "These chambers hold and expel water... the idea for a submarine came from this. It swims underwater, rising and sinking to find food." He'd only remembered enough to make himself seem smart enough. Enough for her eyes to light up and her to smile. That was always enough, and too much at the same time.

He loved these weekends. Far from anyone that knew who they were. Far from infamy and fame and all that.

"Well, I'm going to buy it," she said firmly, "And then you can lecture me further, _Professor_ Leonhart." She liked to use that moniker whenever he tickled an impression. He found it odd that she never used Commander, unless she was in the company of the others. That her knight hadn't won out of fighting or anything...

Maybe he was looking too far into it.

A light grasp of the hand pulled him forward, to the old lady with the spectacles that reminded him of Cid, to the clang of an old cash register and the tinkling of a bell as it fulfilled its purpose. A turn of the head led him outside, where he was soon blinded by the real unfiltered sunlight.

"Where to?" she said, turning to him, shifting her contact to his shoulder. She never noticed how much contact she made with him, but he certainly did; it was almost as if she were an instrument of himself at times, separate and attached.

"You pick," he replied, wanting to go back to watching. She wore light yellow today, reminiscent of the stars in his mind, and the dress billowed in the breeze. He wondered if she knew that she reminded him of a butterfly at the moment. And then he laughed to himself when he pictured nautili and butterflies together...

"Squall," she said mock stern, "You really need to tell me what's going on in that head of yours sometimes." He'd noticed her curiosity the moment she'd released his shoulder, and he was studying the particular appendage as it rested at her hip. Yes, definitely a butterfly.

"Butterflies," he replied, watching as the breeze caught her hair, "And nautili, Rinoa. Silly, isn't it?"

She pounced then, arms around neck and clasping. He laughed as he spit some of her hair out of his mouth. It didn't taste particularly good.

"If you weren't such an old fuddy duddy," she whispered in his ear, "You'd make a darn good poet." Rinoa in the sunlight... no, if he weren't a soldier he wouldn't be a poet. He'd be a painter, and brush on nautilus spirals and butterfly wings on her back. The very absence of her usual blue duster allowed him to imagine other than angel wings—

He'd almost missed it. She had a habit of kissing him without warning.

Maybe he'd have to do that someday, and give it to her. A nautilus and a butterfly, light yellow and blue and hasty accurate with his own hand. All softness and curves, and nothing even remotely resembling metal.

He smiled when the contact changed, lightly grabbing her own wrist to lead her to some shade. She let herself melt next to him, and they walked; her chattering about seashells and something else he only half listened to. Her verbosity was legendary, and he preferred to listen to its sound instead of substance.

But the small band in his pocket would burn through if he let this go on any longer.

"Rinoa..." he said, catching her in mid sentence. She turned fully to him and he forgot and any all thoughts in his head. No amount of painting or staring would help him out of his paralysis.

"Yes?"

"Nevermind. Let's just keep walking."

* * *

AN: My first FF8 fanfic. And for Sabe, cause she gave me the idea to write one. I'm terribly in love with Squall and Rinoa, but not the sugar sweet renditions of them. This is far lighter than what I intended as my first FF8 fanfic, but hey, Sabe wanted this. Hope she likes it. 


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